


Bury

by Bluejay141519



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Dont copy to another site, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 00:21:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17172287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluejay141519/pseuds/Bluejay141519
Summary: Peter Parker has the worst luck in the world.(Or- what a day to lose his voice).





	Bury

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for any spelling/grammar mistakes, my brain is,,,,not built for this shit.

 

**Tropes requested:**

Cold and flu

Fevers   
Canon traumas

**Prompt:** A's lost their voice and valiantly tries to get through the day.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 

_ “Help! Someone please help me!” _

 

Peter struggled to inhale, hands shaking as he tugs at the debris around him. He shouldn’t be doing it, he knows, because one wrong move, one wrong tug, and he’s dead. 

 

He’s already screwed. It doesn’t really matter.

 

The building came down so fast, there’s no way the rest of the avengers could’ve gotten out. He’s on his own, down here in the darkness with nothing but thick, dusty, stale air, and the tattered remains of his suit.

 

It would scare him enough, he’s sure, except he’s been in this position before, and it’s-

 

It’s there in the back of his brain, always and everywhere. The way he couldn’t move, couldn’t breath, so much  _ pain, pain, pain _ \- and no one there to help him.

 

It’s different this time, but somehow the same.

 

This time he’s in his suit; his real suit, the one Mr. Stark made him. This time he’s not immobile, and this time there are people who are aware of his general location and know he’s in danger. There’s people who care.

 

Those are the things he keeps telling himself. They’re positive, and Natasha once told him (right before they flung him into the woods for survival training) that sometimes the only reason someone survives is because they can remain positive.

 

He can be positive. But he can also be realistic. And the realistic side of him is telling him how yes, he has his suit, but it’s useless since Karen isn’t there, all the suits systems totally dead, and he can’t take it off to try and fix it. He lost the mask during the fight - it got sprayed with some chemical that immediately started to burn and make him choke - so he doesn’t have it to filter the air, or dampen his senses. And so while he’s stuck just a second away from a panic attack and some serious sensory overload (he can hear every piece of the building shifting and groaning above him, and his senses are snapping him around, telling him again and again how much danger he is in) he also can’t see anything. He’s been feeling around his tiny little pocket of space with his hands and his ears, so hyperextended that he could figure how big the area was just by the way a rock sounded when he dropped it on the floor. 

 

And then there’s also the issue of the rest of the team. There’s no way they got out - but there’s also little chance they’re all dead. The problem is, even if they’re alive, and conscious, and somehow not hurt, how in the hell are they going to find him in time? He was on the second floor. The building had twelve total. And then to top it off, all he’s found around him is rock, rock, and look! More rock. No metal, nothing he can use to make a significant amount of noise with. It would figure, that while he’d manage to not get crushed to death, he also would manage to be surrounded by probably the only amount of concrete that doesn’t have metal in it. Or if it does - there are some short pieces of rebar sticking out of a few - he can’t exactly be ripping out one chunk to be bashing against another.

 

And then there’s the natural issue of the illness he’s currently fighting, because like all things in Peter’s life, he seems to have the worst luck ever when dealing with anything remotely serious, so here he is.

 

There’s hundred of tons of concrete above him. And he has no voice to call for help.

 

“ _ This is stupid.” _ Tony had told him yesterday, bent over a table with Dr. Banner right next to him, the later who seemed equally fascinated and confused. “ _ He shouldn’t be able to get sick like this anymore.” _

 

“ _ Well, he is and he did. Best guess I can say is to treat it like one would the normal flu, and see what happens.” _

 

Peter had just sat on the exam table and sniffled pathetically. He’d woken up a few days before with a headache and sore throat, which turned into headache, painful to be awake sort of sore throat, and fever, and then this morning, he awoke without any of his previous symptoms, except his voice had basically bit the dust.

 

A bad analogy all things considered, but the loudest he could manage was a whisper. A squeaky whisper most of the time. He’d felt better, but not one hundred percent.

 

Except the call came in during the middle of the couch session he and clint were having, and there wasn’t time to decide whether or not Peter was going. He was in his suit before Nat and Clint were.

 

He wishes he stayed home.

 

He wishes he was with Ned, or Aunt May, or MJ, where he’d be safe and warm and not facing down his mortality for what feels like the tenth time in as many weeks.

 

He wishes he were anywhere but here, in the freezing cold darkness, coughing painfully and breathing through broken ribs, not knowing if his team (his _family_ ) are dead or alive. He might even wish for the blood chilling fear and panic of getting a call to come and help rescue them, because it would mean he could do something. He wouldn’t be in this hole, alone and afraid and uncertain and _helpless_.

 

Peter has no idea how long he’s down there, when things start to move.

 

He long gave up on moving rocks when he heard the ones near him start to shift and groan. His fingers are bleeding, his knee feels swollen and his chest is heavy, but everything else is just….numb. He only knows his hands are bleeding because he started smelling blood, and touched his face to feel wetness. He doesn’t even know if his eyes are open.

 

It gets to him though, as he sits there whispering for help, wishing he could be screaming, listening as things move above him. 

 

He’s going to die here. This isn’t like last time, where he could see light and feel his pain, and be able to  _ liftliftlift _ to freedom. 

 

This time-

 

This time someone is going to find his body. Even if there’s nothing wrong with him internally - and he’s pretty sure there is - he’s going to run out of air, or water, or the whole thing is going to shift and crush him. 

 

This time it’s going to be Cap uncovering him. Clint might find him first, if he’s okay enough to look, but then Cap will uncover him, and lift his broken, cold body into the daylight. It won’t hurt him, not anymore, but Steve will be so gentle anyway. Natasha won’t say anything, but she won’t know what to do when Tony sees him. She’ll be calm, collected, and stoic, but Tony is her friend, and as much as she tries not to care, Peter knows that she’s got something like fondness towards the team, Tony and Peter alike.

 

And Tony - Mr. Stark - this would hurt him. He doesn’t know if Steve will be able to save Tony from it. He’ll want to, because it’s Captain America -  _ “Just call me Steve, kid” _ \- and Mr. Stark is his friend. 

 

They’ve been so much closer now that the team is back together.

 

“ _ Please help me.” _ He whispers, coughing pathetically. There’s so much more noise now, but he can’t figure out if it’s bad or good. There’s other things too - other sounds he should know, things he should recognize, but he can’t, he  _ doesn’t _ . 

 

He didn’t realize how far gone he was until now.

 

The light is so painful he screams, but it’s silent, not enough air, not enough space in his head, not enough of a voice.. It’s all  _ too much, too much, too much, _ things touching him, skin against skin, seams and rough clothing chafing his skin,  _ people _ , people talking, telling him “ _ We gotcha kid, we’ve gotcha, you’re gonna be fine, can you hear me Peter-” _

 

He sleeps.

 

......

 

He wakes up in medbay, and the team is there. Or- well they’re there, but not.

 

They’re all totally zonked out in various states of disheveledness and awkward angles. Clint it actually sleeping standing up, which doesn’t surprise Peter at all. 

 

What does surprise him, is when he opens his eyes to stare at them in all their dusty, exhausted glory, and he everything's...normal. Sounds aren’t too loud anymore, he can’t hear their breathing, can’t hear the movement of every machine in the compound. The lights still are too bright, and he feels still to numb, but now he thinks that may be due to drugs than anything else. 

 

He’s safe though. His team came for him once again.

 

(He’s probably cry if he thought it wouldn’t hurt so much).

 

He’s tired still, and he doesn’t know how to feel, but he opens his mouth to say something, maybe wake up Mr. Stark who’s slumped against his bed, he actually makes...noise.

 

The startled little squeak is much louder than he’s used to, and while it doesn’t wake up Tony, it does make Cap appear next to his bedside.

 

“Hey Pete.” He murmurs, tired and dirty like the rest of them, but kind in his smile and his eyes. “You okay?”

 

Peter hums, then smiles. “I’m okay.” He replies, voice clear and strong, if only a little hoarse. It’s something so small to most people, being able to speak, communicate,  _ call for help _ , but it’s precious all the same. He can’t stop himself from smiling.

 

Steve huffs a little bit. “You can’t keep doing this you know. We’re way too old for this amount of stress.”

 

“We just celebrated your ninety fourth birthday. You’re incredibly limber for your age.” He remarks dryly. Cap smirks again.

 

“You’ve been around Tony too long.” Steve's eyes drift up to the monitor that’s surely beeping away above Peters head. Maybe they silenced it. He sighs softly, eyes drooping, and Steve taps his fingers against his arm. “Get some sleep kid. We aren’t going anywhere.” 

 

“Thanks Cap.” He slurs, eyes closed, but this time it’s of his own will, safe and warm and  _ alive _ among his team.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it!!!!


End file.
